


Afternoon Tea

by rudigersmooch



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Sex Pollen, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudigersmooch/pseuds/rudigersmooch
Summary: There’s a big narcotics bust in Chinatown, and Leon inadvertently gets exposed to a rare plant species.
Relationships: Count D/Leon Orcot
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	Afternoon Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



> Hello recip! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

When Leon heard about the drug bust in Chinatown, he missed his mouth with his cup and spilled lukewarm coffee all down his shirt.

His curse was loud enough to echo off the walls, but Jill only laughed and pulled one of the station’s cheap napkins out of her pocket.

“Leon, it’s not _D’s_ place,” she said as she handed it to him with a grin, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I didn’t think it was,” he snapped back while patting ineffectively at the stain on his shirt. The napkin left tufts of paper behind in addition to the coffee, and it dried him not at all; he tossed it away in disgust. “I just didn’t know Narcotics was that close to a bust.” That sounded convincing, right? Certainly not like Leon was worried, or like he was annoyed Narcotics had beaten him to it.

It must not have been convincing enough, because Jill only hummed thoughtfully and deliberately didn’t go back to her desk.

“They got a tip,” she said with a shrug. “But it kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it? I mean, I heard the front was a tea shop.”

“A tea shop?” Leon said. “What kind of idiot would move millions of dollars through a _tea_ shop?”

“You’ve got me. Supposedly it was a pretty popular place.”

“I’ll bet,” Leon said with a snort, because he’d known D long enough to know the guy was an absolute weirdo about his tea. Maybe all of Chinatown was like that; it would certainly explain why everyone was always asking him if he wanted a cup when he came by to ask questions, despite the fact that he was pretty sure he smelled like coffee 24-7 even on days he didn’t drench himself in it. Hell, maybe a tea shop _was_ a good idea for a fake company in Chinatown; such an innocuous place to do business, right? Probably enough regular customers to hide the shady ones, and enough regular customers who were also shady ones; Narcotics would no doubt investigate everyone who’d ever set foot in the place, asking questions, digging around. 

Leon didn’t know where D bought all his strange flavors of tea, but he must’ve at least been familiar with the place—D knew freaking everything, it seemed like.

“You okay, Leon?” Jill asked, sounding a little bit concerned; Leon hadn’t realized he was scowling, and he deliberately pushed the annoyance away.

“Yeah, just…tired.” The fingers wrapped around his mostly empty Styrofoam cup gave Jill a little wiggling wave. “I’m going to finish some paperwork and then head out.” He didn’t say _head out to the supposed tea shop because D better not have bought anything from there, that dumbass_ , because he’d just come off a double shift and he was tired, all right? No matter how much he wanted to poke his nose into Narcotics’ crime scene, it was none of his business.

None at all.

“Okay. Take care, Leon,” Jill said, and Leon waved her away instead of giving into the urge to pump her for more details.

It was absolutely none of his business.

  


* * *

  


It was just Leon’s luck that he was leaving the station around the time the Narcotics department showed up with their evidence in hand, and he got caught holding the door for a parade of people carrying boxes. He was so tired he felt like he was going to collapse, and judging by the looks he received just for standing there with one hand wrapped around the handle bar, he probably had a mighty scowl on his face. He tried his best not to make eye contact after that, instead focusing on the tubs and crates full of evidence. Some of it was the obvious stuff, like heroin and ledger books, but he couldn’t help but snicker when he saw the box full of tea. They must’ve cleaned the place out indiscriminately, judging by the innocent-looking boxes of Twinings and Tazo, and it was kind of funny to think of calling any of that stuff “evidence.”

He was still smiling a bit when the last person filed in, which of course meant that the universe let him trip over the wooden box that he hadn’t seen at the bottom of the stairs.

“ _Seriously_?” he groaned, watching the dust from inside it billow out over his sneakers as it scooted a few feet along the sidewalk. One of the beat cops must’ve dropped it; it didn’t take a genius to see that it was full of tea or some other dried plant stuff, and Leon sighed as he bent down to brush the brown powder off his laces. It kind of made his fingers tingle, which was just weird enough that he frowned and looked back at the box, every cop’s instinct coming alive. 

The box wasn’t very big, maybe as big as a cigarette carton, but it was made of dark, decorated wood. There were flowers painted all over it, pretty red and purple ones arranged in diamond patterns with Chinese characters etched on top, and when Leon carefully picked it up, he couldn’t help but notice the weight—this thing was _expensive_. Probably black market—he had an instinct for these sorts of things.

 _Who buys TEA off the black market?_ Leon wondered just before he caught a whiff of the powder on his fingers. It smelled almost unbearably sweet, floral, but kind of spicy too—it made Leon swallow, his throat suddenly parched. It made him think about all the flavors of tea that D usually had, and how the guy seemed to know everything, and it didn’t take too much of a leap to guess that D would probably recognize the one in this box too.

 _It can’t hurt to ask,_ Leon thought as he tucked the box under one arm and started walking automatically towards the parking lot. It was a pretty short walk, but he was sweating by the time he reached his car—some kind of weird heat wave in the middle of February, which was absurd, or maybe he was just wearing too many layers with his jacket and tee shirt. He hopped in his car and turned the A/C on full blast, then leaned over to buckle the box into the passenger seat. He didn’t want to risk spilling it all over his car, didn’t want to waste any of it, and he got stuck for a minute, just leaning over and breathing deep; it smelled so _good_ all of a sudden, and it took effort to jerk back into his seat and buckle himself in. Once he’d turned the keys in the ignition, he shook his head, feeling like he was coming out of a dream; maybe D’s tea weirdness was rubbing off on him. Stranger things had definitely happened.

 _At least it’s not a man-eating rabbit,_ Leon told himself cheerfully, and he tried to focus on that positive point while he pointed his car towards Chinatown and deliberately didn’t lick the powder off his fingers.

  


* * *

  


It wasn’t a very long drive to D’s shop, though it seemed longer than usual—Leon blamed the traffic for it, although truthfully it was better than usual for the middle of the afternoon. His crappy A/C must’ve stopped working about halfway there, or at least that was the only explanation he had for why he was panting as he pulled into a parking spot. He shrugged out of his jacket before he turned off the car, but it didn’t help much; by the time he’d opened his door and grabbed the tea box with one hand, his head was throbbing like he’d just run a marathon with no water.

It didn’t get better when he pushed open the door to D’s shop, though he was pleased— _very_ pleased—to see that D was right there already, even if he was facing away.

“Hello, welcome to Count D’s—” D turned, and his fixed, polite smile shifted into a frown. “Oh, Detective, you don’t look well at all.”

Leon only grunted in response, because he didn’t _feel_ well and he thought some of that might’ve been D’s fault. The count looked especially good today, with his silky pink robe and two-tone eyes and smooth black hair; normal people didn’t look like they’d stepped out of some fancy painting without even trying, and it was enough to piss off a regular guy, the kind of guy who had to actually work to get people to look at him twice. D was just so damn pretty; Leon tried not to think about it that much, but thinking about it seemed to be the only thing that kept his head from hurting right then.

“I brought you something,” Leon said shortly, and he sort of shoved the box at D’s chest. D immediately looked pleased, which made Leon’s heart (and, okay, his dick) do something un-fucking-called for.

“What is it?” D asked as he took it out of Leon’s hands, because he was used to Leon bringing him things, sweets and little trinkets and flowers one time (they were poisonous and a suspected murder weapon—it wasn’t like Leon had actually brought him _flowers,_ no matter what Jill had said.)

“It’s tea. I think.” Leon almost sobbed—he felt like he was _dying._ “Just tell me what it is, okay?”

D frowned, and then he opened the box.

  


* * *

  


Leon sort of lost track of time after that, but in his defense, it was hard to keep an eye on the clock when he was getting fucked on a table.

It had happened fast, really fast—the second D had the box open, he’d dropped it on a nearby counter and then pretty much _launched_ himself at Leon, which would’ve been alarming if Leon hadn’t already had his arms open and waiting. Having D’s hands on him seemed like the only thing that could cool him down at all, and touching D was a little bit like a dream come true; it was tough to care that clothes came off right then and there in the front of the shop, or that Leon was put on his hands and knees on the same table where they’d eaten macaroons the day before. It was even harder to care when D’s dick was pushing inside him, blowing his mind and rocking his body and making him groan because _finally,_ he had D’s thighs pressed against his ass and D’s hair tickling his shoulders and D’s lips pressed against his neck.

Leon came embarrassingly fast the first time, making a mess of the table and even getting some on his wrists. He stayed hard until D got his hand wrapped around him, those slender perfect fingers jerking him off just right and all but wringing him dry, and he barely even noticed that D seemed to be growling in his ear, the sound almost inhuman.

They kept going, and the only time they separated was to change positions and go again. Leon would’ve said that was weird too, but he was too busy groaning as the cock inside him plunged deeper. It felt _so_ good, so long and hard, but not too thick. If Leon had ever thought about it before (okay, so he’d thought about it a lot) it was exactly how he would’ve imagined D’s cock—long and slender and pink-tipped to match how fucking _pretty_ the guy was, prettier than anyone Leon had ever seen. D had probably never had an awkward, ill-timed boner in his life, and it kept Leon awake at night with a hand down his shorts thinking about all the ways he could explore D’s body up close.

That D also happened to fuck like a freight train hadn’t been on Leon’s list of fantasies, but now that he was here, he couldn’t imagine why not. It felt good to be bent in half and naked on a table slick with his sweat and come, even if his balls ached from coming who knows how many times and he thought he might cry if he came again. Still, all he had to do was look down at where his asshole was stretched around D’s fantastic fucking dick and he wanted it again, wanted to be sore and messy and fucked all night.

“Come on, D,” he panted, and the hands holding his thighs clenched hard enough to leave bruises; Leon would definitely have indents from his nails tomorrow. “Just split me open, fuck, I want you to, don’t stop.”

D made a pained noise—had he even come once yet? Leon didn’t actually know, it was sort of a blur—and fucked him harder.

“That isn’t the wisest request you’ve ever made, Detective,” D said, and he was wild-eyed and panting, his rose-colored lips slightly parted and delicious-looking; Leon wished he could reach them, but he just wasn’t that flexible.

“Oh, what, are you calling me stupid now?” Leon tried to glare, but it was ruined by another groan as D did something magical with his hips that made his ass clench down _tight._

“Never stupid,” D said, sounding almost sincere, which was nice. “Just not aware of what you’re asking.”

“I’m _asking_ you to come in my ass already, damn it!” Leon growled, and he hated himself a little for the fact that it sounded a bit like a whimper at the end.

Still, it did the trick; D laughed, this quiet, sweet, little sound, and then his hips stopped moving. The feeling of him coming was—wow, okay, super weird and wet and way too drawn out, but also hot enough that Leon groaned and started stripping his cock again, chaffing and masturbator’s wrist be damned.

Leon came for the last time to D petting his hip and saying his name like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

  


* * *

  


Leon passed out after that, though whether it was because he’d been up for twenty hours straight or because he’d been fucked to within an inch of his life was anyone’s guess.

When he woke up, he was lying in a fancy bed with red curtains and a dark wood frame, and D was lying next to him and slowly petting his hip. Neither of them even had their underwear on, and D still looked impossibly beautiful; Leon wished he could appreciate that fully, but his ass felt like it had been kicked down ten flights of stairs and his dick felt like it was dead, and so he settled for looking at D’s soft smile and gently closed eyes. It was a nice picture.

“Leon,” D said without opening his eyes, startling him. “Where _did_ you get that box?”

It took a minute for Leon to remember what he was talking about, and then another minute to remember what Jill had told him the drug den had been called.

“Zhang’s Teas. It’s around here somewhere—it got shut down today.” He spied a clock over D’s shoulder and he corrected himself; it was past midnight. “Yesterday.”

“Ah. I know the place.” At Leon’s sharp look, D only smiled wider. “It’s not tea. It’s a rather rare herb, in fact, so I’d wondered.”

“I knew you’d know,” Leon said, even as he tried to calm his instinctive panicked response to D calling something _rare._ It usually meant a bucket of paperwork and probably some unusual deaths; Leon supposed he had to count himself lucky that all he’d gotten was fucked by a guy he kind of sort of didn’t want to arrest (mostly) rather than ending up in pieces somewhere.

The thought soothed him for only a second, and then he jerked upright.

“Shit. That’s _evidence._ ”

D just kept smiling.


End file.
